Unsavoury Reputation
by Wicked R
Summary: post Pass/Fail. Matt knows Peter shouldn't be behind the wall, but can't convince him not to go in for Sylar. Would Claire?
1. Prologue

Title: Unsavoury Reputation

Disclaimers: I don't own any supernatural powers or anything else to do with Heroes. If I had, the series would continue, no matter what.  
Genre: angst, supernatural, hints of hurt/comfort and romance.

Rating: PG-15

Summary/Set: post Pass/Fail. Matt knows Peter shouldn't be behind the wall, but can't convince him not to go in for Sylar. Would Claire?

Pairing: mild/budding Sylaire.

Prologue

Claire pouted, starting at length at her pink phone, the object indirectly responsible for her current problems. Couldn't she have just a day where everything was normal? Now that her and Gretchen more or less admitted their feelings for each other, all she wanted was spending some time with her. Sylar was of course as usual the last person she wanted to hear about, regardless of how peculiar and relatively painless and what's more, surprisingly sociable she could consider their queer last encounter in the closet. When she could be bothered thinking about it for a moment or two, she was a bit puzzled by the killer's noticeably different and insecure attitude, but mostly she just wanted to pretend he didn't exist.

Instead, here she was, looking at a road map to find Matt Parkman's house following a phone conversation with the cop where she eventually and willingly nillingly had agreed to go LA to let herself get involved in one of Peter's no doubt repeatedly suicidal and ill-advised mission. Wasn't her uncle supposed to be the wiser one? If Matt had trapped Sylar, good on him, why did Peter need to get implicated?

Unfortunately for her, Claire cared for the Petrelli's wellbeing and she could not ignore what had happened. She could also relate to Parkman's reluctance to contact her father or god forbid Angela, and Peter was looking like he needed assistance from someone he trusted where he was, seemingly unconscious in a basement. Not to mention that it was rather concerning that the telepath didn't really seem in his right mind. It all meant that Claire could do nothing else, but disregard her reluctance and hatred of powers and abilities, and board the next plane to California.

"Any new developments?" The blonde asked as she was let into the house by a dishevelled and sweaty looking Matt.

The policeman only gave a half-hearted shrug, "you'd better follow me. Peter's downstairs," he led her.

"Where's Sylar?" She started, but the answer became clear as the house owner stepped aside. Claire rushed to her uncle's side, frowning, and shaking him, even though given what she already knew, it was unlikely for Peter to react to her being there. "Oh, Peter!" She shook her head in dismay. It was quite a miracle the younger Petrelli brother was alive, he'd always done the most daring things, regardless of consequences. Now her attention was seized by the unfinished wall behind the unconscious paramedic though and she looked back and forth from the lifeless Sylar and Parkman. "Why are you trying to wall him in? Its no match for his powers. And in your house? You wanna use him as a foundation pillar of something?" The blonde took in the scene confused. She couldn't see how Parkman's deeds benefited him or anyone. The officer of the law looked decidedly drunk, in fact a lot worse than that, indicating a state of mind that had nothing to do with alcohol. His eyes didn't focus, or perhaps he was simply trying to look away, he had a foot on the stairs still, a hand on the railing as if he would've not been wanting to be there at all. "So how are we getting Peter back to normal?" She asked, eager to get the unpleasantries over with and herself back to college as well.

Parkman gave the same noncommittal shrug, "I'm not. I'm having nothing to do with Sylar ever again, if Angela serves my head on a plate or not. I've always known it had been a mistake to try to wipe out a mind like his. A mistake I had to pay for dearly over the last few months. You can't imagine how it was, with him living in my brain. As far as I'm concerned, this house is no longer ours. I'm going after Janice and we're starting anew like we should've in the first place. I just thought you'd want to know about Peter before I disappeared. If you want him out, you'll have to get him out yourself. I tried to stop him, he didn't listen to me anyway."

"What do I do?" The blonde student volunteered impatiently. She would get herself into the most risky situations lately as well, but at least she had the excuse of being indestructible. The mind reader walked over with a certain reluctance in his step, but knelt down by the ability replicator nevertheless and with a last mental shrug over the validity of what he was doing, he put a palm on each of the two present born Petrellis foreheads.

Claire wasn't sure what to expect. Perhaps a blurring of her surroundings, a swirl of colours, a long tunnel that signified entering somebody's mind. Instead, without any warning or transition whatsoever, she found herself on an portentously empty street, surrounded by skyscrapers while her real body slumped down next to Peter's in Parkman's basement.

tbc


	2. Damage

Chapter 2: Damage

Claire had been wondering about the streets of a deserted city for what felt like hours. She had looked round every corner on her way, inside every shop window and climbed one of the skyscrapers to be able to look around better, but neither that, nor her shouting her uncle's name had given any results. She'd occasionally called out to Sylar too, taunted him and threatened him, but nothing. It all didn't add up. According to Parkman, this was supposed to be Sylar's nightmare world so she had mentally prepared herself, expecting torture and gore, perhaps close confinement and medical experiments if she could go by how furious the killer had always been with the father who raised her and his devotion to the company and its cause most of his life.

The sun was starting to set and she was getting nowhere. She felt hungry, tired and frustrated. Puzzled by her sore legs, she sat down on the curb, took off her shoes and examined her toes. It looked like her footware had been rubbing against her skin and small blisters were starting to appear on her small toes. Mesmerised by the phenomenon, she picked up a sharp stone and scraped it across the sole of her foot.

Auch, auch, she cursed herself a few seconds later, seeing that the bleeding didn't show any signs of stopping. It was nipping too and she so wasn't used to such a thing. She should've known abilities wouldn't work in Sylar's nightmare, of course, how silly of her to try it out. What was more unfortunate that she had no idea as a human she would be that vulnerable and caused more damage to her foot than she thought she could. At least she didn't jump off tall buildings clueless, she consoled herself. But how was she supposed to walk around like this now?

A little unsure of her own nursing skills for lack of practice, she tied a sock around the head of her foot and tried to orientate herself. She did see what looked like an empty, derelict hospital building earlier, and she did manage to trace her steps back down the lifeless streets that meant nothing to her. Not expecting any people around, she pushed through the supposed to be automatic, but not really working double doors in hope she'll at least find some gauze and tape and whatever else you needed to tend to a cut? She opened a few doors here and there and soon found that the hospital was indeed still well supplied, for lack of patients, presumably.

She was rummaging through some drawers with the open door of the store room behind her, when she saw shadows on the wall change in front and heard a startled yelp. She turned slowly, taking care to grab one of the scalpels she saw in the drawers, prepared to defend herself out of habit.

Of course Peter's surprise was a lot bigger. A few long moments passed while they were staring at each other, and it wasn't unexpected that Claire had found her voice first, "of all the weirdest and most heroic plans, Peter, which one is this?" She scolded him, feeling as if it was totally in her right. It wasn't the first time she'd have to save his broody, depressed ass.

"Claire?" Peter closed in on her quickly with a few steps and grabbed her arms, wanting to assure himself she was real, or as real as this universe got, the same way as Sylar had to touch him physically to believe he was there when he first arrived. "What are you doing here? You know you almost gave me a heart attack?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Sorry, but let's just say Parkman was rather difficult to understand. He'd trapped Sylar here and you're doing what exactly?"

"Being trapped as well, apparently.. Claire, it's been five years since I've seen another person! Don't argue about the timescales," he put up a placating hand, "I had the same problem with Sylar when I arrived. He'd claimed he'd already spent years here and it is true, it seems like time's moving on a different rate here. To us, it's been five years."

Claire tilted her head in contemplation. Of course, weird, unnatural things didn't surprise her much anymore, but "so you wanna say I'm stuck here too? With Sylar? For years?" Forever or what will seem like forever? She didn't dare to mention that last bit. "Where is he by the way?"

Peter humphed, scratching his head, "it's a rather long story where he is at the moment. Come on, I'll tend to whatever happened to your foot. Claire, you gotta be careful around here! And then I'll take you home, I mean the place I stay at, we can have something to eat. You must be hungry? How long did it take you to find me? Damn it, you should've never come!" He frowned as he led her to a seat and washed his hands at the sink so he could touch her foot safely.

"Are we really stuck?" Claire rolled her eyes, "don't you have Parkman's ability to jiggle with minds?"

"Not in here. Catch 22. But this dimension must have Parkman's inbuilt rules as building blocks, a basis he originally intended to keep Sylar locked up with. I've been hammering away at a wall that looked like it could lead us out of here, but I'm not actually sure anything would, unless we have outside help. What's Parkman intending to do? Do you know?"

Claire shrugged, "I don't think he was intending to do much! I've never seen him so muddled. But he did send after me, so I presume I'm supposed to be your knight in white armour and get you out of here? No idea how though."

"This might nip a little," Peter cleaned her foot with antiseptic, "so then it probably is how I assumed it might be, that Parkman himself doesn't know how the world he'd created works. Either that, or he doesn't care."

"Seemed like a bit of both," Claire agreed, "but maybe he would take some other steps to free us if we don't emerge soon," she said hopefully, hardly believing it herself, "dad would certainly start looking for me if I disappeared."

"A few days…it would mean a few decades in this limbo. If you're in any way in a hurry, we need to find another way out. Perhaps now you're here, the factors of the equation have changed, I dunno. We'll have to see. In the meantime, can you stand all right?" Peter handed her shoes over once he was finished with bandaging, "I'll just pick up some water bottles from the machine out there that still has some in it and take you over to the room I sleep at mostly these days. There I can tell you everything I know and all that happened with me and Sylar in this place. Tuna or salmon? Just so I know which can to open."

Tbc


	3. Ability To Stay

Chapter 3: Staying Power

Claire seemingly just stared at the remainder of her sandwich, hunger forgotten, not sure if she should laugh or cry. Never mind Sylar's nightmare world, but the place was pretty much the embodiment of her own nightmares. What was to happen if she was to stay here forever? Good thing she could just step off some building to her death here after all.

And was that how she was going to look like five years down the line, the way Peter looked? With no regard to her appearance as nobody would see anyway, half batty and obsessed with a certain routine when he had all the time in the world to do whatever! Why had Peter been battering away at a dubious wall when he couldn't even chip it for one? Why did he not try and entertain or in fact teach himself new professions out of boredom? Do something whatsoever that actually made sense or resembled fun. Cause her uncle had been doing remarkably little of the latter. She dreaded to think what Sylar would look and behave like under the circumstances. But surprisingly, according to Peter, Sylar had been the saner one, up to a point at least. Claire would certainly have to judge that herself, by the looks of it. She shook her head, trying to shake all the nonsense away from around her, "but if you know that hitting the wall does no good to anyone, why are you still keeping it up?"

"What else can I do, Claire? Emma needs me, she needs Sylar to save her and he will, I just don't know when and how. Mum's premonitions are never wrong."

"Which means we will get out of here soon," the blonde was trying to hang on to the positives.

"Its easy to loose sight of that though. You don't know how it is find the same shit day in, day out. Hammering kept me focussed and was a reminder of the goal, and hope. But I didn't get much chance to go back to it a lot lately, not since Sylar got ill. I'm just concentrating on getting him better now, so he's fit to help me save Emma like he'd promised."

Claire gave another headshake. This was really a weird world, either that, or Peter had completely lost it. "But the powers will all return to him once we're out of here, so he'll just be mighty fine and all that boastful himself anyway, don't you think? There's no reason to fuss."

Her conversation partner gave a long, tight chested sigh. This will be hard to explain. "For weeks on end, while I was camping out at the wall, I would see no one. Not a soul or living being of any sort. I kinda got used to and was looking forward to his occasional visits when he came over to bring me something he'd found in some part of the city or just to tell me something. I would get grumpy with him soon for something for the most part out of his control, like acting like Nathan or saying sorry and he'd usually go away pretty soon, but still, at least what he was saying got me some new things to think about till the next time. So I sorta got attached to not wanting him die, at least not in this reality."

"Can he even die? I mean I know he doesn't have any abilities, nevertheless him dying would kinda defeat not just the purpose of what Parkman was trying to do, but it would also stop you and your mother's dreams coming true. Apart from the fact I still don't understand why would ultimately he do such a thing at the carnival. Ulterior motives?"

"I don't know if he could die. Do I know anything anymore? All I know is that by the way, I need to go upstairs to check on him. Sorry I'd need to make more bread if you wanted some, but there's a collection of interesting cans in that cupboard in the corner. Take your pick."

"No, that's fine, I'm not hungry anymore."

"Ah, you're starting to get affected by being here. This place can do that to you, it makes you lose sight of necessities in relation to time passing. But you were starving an hour ago and you will have to get used to reminding yourself of things you'd need to do if you were in the real world."

Claire frowned, "confusing. I'm sure I'll get used to it if I have to. Nevertheless, I wanna come with you. I wanna see Sylar."

Peter paused by the door, "why? Besides, if you're looking for reprimand and condemnation, he's not conscious much. I'm keeping him more or less sedated because of the pain he's in."

The young woman shrugged, "curious, you know? Anyway, the place looks boring already."

Peter turned out and down the corridor, simply letting her follow him if she wanted to. "What's wrong with him anyhow?" She asked as they started climbing some stairs, "are you sure there's something wrong with him?"

"Of course there is Claire! I told you, abilities don't count here."

"I understand, I understand, I just, you know, in case he was pretending or something. I wouldn't put it past him, he was pretending to be what he isn't with me before."

Peter grunted. It was expected that the situation they were in was hard to grasp for anyone who didn't live it. He will just have to have patience and take it one step at a time with her. "It has been going on for months and I've been trying to do everything that I could under the circumstances and given that I'm not a doctor, its kinda hard to figure out what was making him ill, but I admit I have not been able to find an answer. Still, I find the idea impossible that he's acting it. If you wanted to come, I should've told you the whole story first before you saw him," he sighed. It was completely impracticable to explain everything at once, so he will have to see to that after. He turned the corner into the first room on the first level instead and stepped to the iv pole to put another saline solution bag on it instead of the empty one.

Claire reeled to a halt behind him, bamboozled at best. From the way Sylar looked, pale and motionless on the hospital bed and the equipment Peter was using to keep him alive, the blonde was quite sure all of a sudden that his patient would've kicked the bucket if the paramedic didn't give him so much attention. "Perhaps if you let him die, we could both escape this nightmare world. I admit though, its entirely possible we would be stuck here for an even longer time then."

Peter turned to her abruptly, his expression not entirely friendly. "He might hear you," he mouthed to her. "And?" Claire shrugged.

"Look, I'll have to change the dressings on the abdominal drainage. It's not a pretty sight anyway, so could you wait outside?"

Claire rolled her eyes, not taking the hint, "believe me, I've seen worse on my own body, remember? So what happened with him?" She deposited herself comfily in an armchair by the window and put her feet up on a tray that would've normally held medical instruments. "Can he hear us or not?"

Her uncle ignored her for a moment, administering medicine through a cannula first before he reattached the iv line. "I gave him enough sedation now that he probably won't," he glared back at her.

"Lack of powers doesn't mean lack of psychosis, so just as well."

"I'm not Noah," Peter almost like growled at her at this point, "Sylar's usually in too much pain to cope with what he's going through, that's why he needs the drugs."

"So he's a vegetable then."

"No. I let him wake sometimes if his vitals and blood test ranges are bordering okish and we talk."

"Why would you want to talk to him?"

"Besides him being the only other person here? Come on Claire, just listen. All I'm asking is that you hear me out. Listen to his story."

Claire examined her fingernail, half dismissing the idea already, "well, as you claim, we've got all the time in the world."

Tbc


	4. Butter

Chapter 4: Butter

Peter took another nervous glance towards his patient before pulling up a chair and sitting in a strategical position somewhere between the only two other people in the city. He wasn't sure how Sylar would take it if he did hear Peter's take on his miserable, pitiable life, but the paramedic eventually convinced himself that he did pump the taller man with enough drugs for that not to be an issue.

"I'm not exactly sure where to start," Peter gazed out the window as if there would've been something to look at apart from empty space. It was quite a pity not even birds featured in this lifeless, silent place that sometimes reminded him of Emma, his fundamental reason for being here. With no noise, it would've been how her world felt like when alone at home in her apartment by herself.

"Should I start at the part when Angela led us to believe we were brothers for the first time round and he saved me from my father, and he saved me from wanting to kill? Should I tell you about the part when I had his original ability and was not able to control it? Or the twilight zone where he himself thought he was Nathan thanks to mom no less and we actually had a brotherly relationship? Or when he let him out so I can say good bye?" His eyes drifted back to the form on the bed, so much more important to him than the potential rescuer of his girlfriend now that he had years to think about not much else.

Claire blinked repeatedly in confusion. She had not been aware of half of those situations her young uncle was talking about, but she was too befuddled to interrupt. Besides, Peter turned back to look her in the eyes as he decided the best course of action, "but no, its what's been happening in this universe that you need to grasp first. When I arrived here to bust Sylar out, or even prior to me setting out to get him, I knew one thing for sure. I knew that he was different from how he used to be last year or before. Not only because I saw him saving Emma or even for the reason that he had Nathan's consciousness inside him. The experience of this body snatching business changed him no doubt, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else that happened since our earlier encounters."

The blonde nodded, "yes, he was different," she agreed, desperately trying to find a point of reference that would help her understand where Peter was coming from. "He'd visited me at college yesterday and I have noticed he was decidedly less reluctant to admit being lost and exposed. He was asking for my advice if I understand right!" She had been a bit puzzled by the encounter and was going to consult Noah on the subject, but a little mystification was a long shot from understanding, what's more forgiving or trusting Sylar.

"I know, he told me he went to see you. You convinced him to get rid of his powers."

"Well, not exactly. More to the point, I did not convince him of anything. I just told him what my opinion was, as I always do."

"Having no powers solves nothing," Peter gestured around himself in a wide arc, indicating the reality they lived in, "you cannot start anew with our past baggage. Not really. Especially not him."

"That's what I was saying," Claire approved baffled by where exactly Peter was leading the conversation, "that he's still Sylar no matter what you think of him now."

Peter rubbed his eyes tiredly, dismissing her one track minded comment, "he's ill because of the guilt."

His conversation partner looked at him like he had seven heads, then burst out laughing. "You can't be serious. And what kinda illness is that?"

"Well, either that, or I caused him some serious internal abdominal injuries that set off the process. Not as if he didn't let me use him as a punching bag any time I felt like it."

"Don't look so crestfallen, wouldn't he deserve a few good beatings for what he did to us, to so many other people with abilities? It would've been death row if it wasn't for all the hush-hush the company had always insisted upon."

"He did not hit back, not once. He didn't even defend himself. Not even verbally. Don't you think there's something wrong with this picture?"

"He couldn't really retaliate without abilities," she argued.

"Claire, you're not listening! I've repeatedly lost my temper and inflicted serious bodily harm on a practically defenceless man who wanted nothing more than a shred of understanding and I was too angry to notice the similarities of our behaviour patterns. Omitting to control emotions is so close to abilities controlling you. We're all products of our genes and environments, but that doesn't mean there can not be a point in our lives where we chose to be different from what our circumstances would victimize us into and I came to understand that Sylar had taken that step when he'd put his fate into Parkman's hands."

"Wouldn't it be time you took that step as well by stopping being so depressed, gloomy and obsessed and try and find a way out of here?" Claire humphed. All this Sylarpositivizing was making her a bit on edge.

"Even if we could, I feel responsible for him now. Maybe it isn't why he needs to be in hospital for, but its true that I have put him in there on one of the occasions I have snapped because he knew something my brother would. Three or four punches I think, that's all it was, but I have managed to knock him unconscious for a couple of minutes. By the time he came to I regretted my rashness for in fact him becoming Nathan was actually mom's fault, more directly than a lot of other things she did to him. Afterwards Sylar tried to retreat away to his watchmaker hole like usual where he lived, but I guess being a paramedic I would notice his shallow breathing, the paleness and pained expression. I ended up guiding him here instead and boy, it was a long walk with how much I had to support him. Investigations, supportive treatment, stitches I could do, I just had to hope it'd not be a case for abdominal surgery, cause I don't think I could handle that. But it looked like the bleeding stopped and I took him home, although I did stay close and checked on him regularly from then on. And that's how I got to know him more. He didn't explain himself, didn't tell me much of his life story under normal circumstances as such, only there were these nightmares. He'd wake up every night struggling to breathe and spewing his guts out with every memory he wanted rid of. Of course it doesn't work that way. Over the next few weeks I got the quick-over of possibly every person he'd killed or injured through half sentences he couldn't help himself give away sitting on the cold bathroom floor while I was trying every method I could to settle his nerves and stomach. I obviously didn't succeed, not on the long term. He was dangerously dehydrated and in a lot of pain and as I said, I'm not exactly sure why. Its very likely for the most part it has psychosomatic origins because he's not happy with who he is, what he had done and what others have demanded of him. Its also entirely possible that he would've developed Crohn's disease anyway if he did not have your ability, cause that is the illness most of his findings are consistent with. Of course you're right, if we ever get out of here, he'd instantly heal, psychosomatic or not."

"Well, I've been feeling sick before if something terrible happened.." Claire intercepted, although it certainly wasn't important what she was saying. She just felt like she had to have some, if only some little insignificant say in the whirlwind effect the story was having on her. It was all so confusing.

"Either way, whatever happens its clear he would never become the man we first met and fought against. I don't get reminded of that person very often. Of course I know no words of mine can convince you, not really, But perhaps this is exactly why I'm here. I've had the chance to think about it a lot and perhaps this is how he'll go save Emma, if I become his link to the rest of the world."

"Pft, the craziest, hardest job you had so far and you've taken on some pretty batty ones."

"Maybe so, but I don't see how else I could make everything right. By the way jobs I need to do. A machine I still know of in the city that has enough bottled water is about an hour walking distance away and now that you're here too, I should not waste more time and go get a few cratefuls."

"Is the water running out?"

"I don't think so, but the ones we haven't touched are even further away. Wait here till I come back, you're in no state to walk anyway."

"What you mean, right here? With him? What if he wakes up?"

"There are plenty of beds close by if you wanna rest your feet," he pointed behind some curtains. "Hospital you know. Just stay with him ok? Turn this little dial here before the last of the iv runs out and if he wakes up, try not to attack him right away all right?"

Claire plonked herself back in the armchair. A little verbal on a helpless Sylar didn't sound so bad. "Got anything to read?"

"There are books in the bedside cabinet there," Peter waved in that direction before giving her an apologetic look and setting off.

Tbc


	5. Primed

Chapter 5: Primed

The books at Claire's disposal were undoubtedly not the girly type, but then what could she expect? She quickly discarded Red Rabbit, The Remnant and the Last Man Standing, and then there was this book called World Without End by Ken Follett, that given the title could've had potential interesting her, but at a closer look it didn't seem to be very true to its title. She picked up the next one instead, Atlantis Found. A comet. How original of a scene. And yet, these scenarios fascinated her. If she was to live forever, or for a very long time at least, she had to understand the implications of these eventualities. Having nothing better to do, she was quickly engulfed in the life of a sailor in the Arctic when the corner of her eyes registered some movement.

She stood to take a closer look at what could be called her temporary patient now, how ironic; and could see that Sylar's eyes were still closed, but there were these slow, erratic, small, nonetheless restless movements that gave Claire the impression he was uncomfortable. Nothing much she could or would do about that, so she turned her eyes back to the book settling down into her original position. A Sylar without powers would not worry her, especially as according to Peter he was physically incapable of hurting anyone.

Sylar fought the awakening. Nothing much good would come out of him being conscious, not now and not ever. His was a world of pain, in more ways than one. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, warding off thoughts, feelings and sensations as long as he could. Which, given the constant throbbing that had been there instead of his abdomen for quite a while now, wasn't very long at all. He had the books and tapes about for this exact reason, to try to distract himself away from what he was feeling somehow when Peter wasn't there with him doing his minute examinations, discussing life's big questions, reading to him, telling him what he had found in one of the numerous apartments in the city, or fussing over him sometimes rather annoyingly and unnecessarily. Why so much attention? Sylar wanted forgiveness, he wanted his companion's approval, and most of all, he wanted his friendship, it was his dream, his aspiration, his remaining ambition in life to be accepted. Yet he couldn't take Peter's concern, it weighted him down, rather than lifted. He didn't deserve it and no matter how many times Peter said he understood how everything that occurred in Sylar's life came to be, the ability collector knew there would be a large part of everyone's irrational soul that would never let go of the hatred against him. Futile, that's what it was, all was futile. Perhaps if he lived long enough, if everyone who knew him died, he could start over. Claire would surely just want to ignore his existence the way he would ignore her, the world had to be large enough for both of them. Question was though, would he ever forgive himself for making mistakes, for being weak against the power that surged in his every chromosome, determining the person he was?

Those were the very thoughts indeed that his consciousness well away from the pain, but required him to escape into the universe of a fictional book, a world without Sylar. He turned over to his side, towards the bedstand to see what he could entertain himself with, hoping Peter had dug up something new somewhere and grabbed the bedrail for support with shaking, out of practice hands. Sylar pulled himself up on the pillow a little, but his grip on the side of the bed tightened. He had to steady himself against the sight. Claire? Now that, was new. His brows knit together in confusion as he contemplated the possibilities. He was prone to nightmares, yes, although they were always set in the real world. There was only one moment like this he could remember, that was when Peter landed in this place and that turned out to be true. Yet Claire sitting there in his hospital room cool and relaxed reading like she had no care in the world was rather mystifying. With features soft like he had never seen her, leaning back with her bare feet up, bandaid on her toes and a calf. Bandaid. Could there be any other explanation then?

"If Noah Bennet's next, I'm not sure I want the city populated," he grunted as superficially as he could, managing quite well despite his dry mouth and unused vocal cords. Then again he would've wanted to explain further, but felt too exhausted already, that if Claire was here, her father would surely come sooner or later to rescue her in turn the same way as she must've been coming for Peter and just like how Peter arrived for him one distant day in the past. It was turning to be quite a queue in the story if this went on. What did that make him, the giant parsnip?

Thankfully though, he did not have to describe his theories for her, cause Claire appeared to have similar thoughts. She regarded him for a moment, assessing how much of her old, own Sylar she was facing, then shrugged, "at least when dad comes, he wouldn't arrive clueless and without a plan, although he would quite surely leave you here."

"Regretting coming already?" Sylar taunted. It felt quite real having this conversation and he certainly wasn't as surprised as he had been when Peter came upon him, but he would've liked the chance to touch her just to make sure she was in actual fact present.

"I was just wondering. Why is it again we can't leave? Is it because you, your brain keeps us captive? Its supposed to be your inner world after all," the blonde went on the offensive.

"I don't want you around, Claire," Sylar complained, and despite all his intents, it sounded like a whimper. He wished he could be a little more explicit and that his voice at least could be stronger, he certainly did not want the blonde out of all people to see him as vulnerable as this.

"That's funny, cause I remember this forced conversation I had with you just before you murdered my father, where you claimed you wanted to spend eternity with me, or marry me or something like that?"

Sylar gave quiet moan this time as he blew the air out to gather enough strength for some more words, "if you want away miss know-it all, you should try less going with the flow attitude in general."

"I'm gonna take your advice," Claire stood, disposing of the book and strolling casually over to his bed, "I've tried to convince Peter you're playing with him, but he didn't listen. Parkman has no reason to keep us here. It must be you."

"I'm sorry if I have to burst your omnipotent illusions about me."

"We'll see. I have a theory I can test," the blond moved to lower his bedrail and sat beside him in an amicable manner that did not fool, nor was intending to fool anyone. "I'm gonna assess whether I can make you not want me here enough to let me go and also, whether you can convince me you're ill at all at the same time," she stated confidently. She had outgrown the Sylar as the boogeyman feeling long ago and made a conscious effort to consider herself as an equal adversary.

"Two for the price of one?" Sylar raised his eyebrows mockingly. He had an idea Claire had nothing pleasant in mind and that in his current state he'll just have to suffer the role reversal without being able to do much about it.

The blond formed a fist, without raising it at first, and looked him straight in the eyes as if that would've given her more bravado in defiance, searching his soul's mirrors for any indication of his reaction.

Confusingly for Claire, he didn't hold her gaze. That was new. Sylar had always been staring right at her when they were anywhere near each other. But she didn't let that distract her from her plan. Slowly at first, but by no means less determined, she raised her hand to direct her knuckles hovering over the part of his stomach she had seen Peter working on with the dressings earlier, then placed her fist over it and pushed hard. Not as if he didn't plaster her onto walls purely for fun purposes in the past.

Tbc


	6. Disfavour

Chapter 6: Disfavour

"I understand how you feel," Sylar said calmly, out of breath nonetheless while Claire's little fingers remained pressing into his ailing belly.

"So you think I take pleasure out of this?" She kneaded his belly with two hands now forcefully, but not brutally, a part of her still remaining mindful of the limitations of their current plane of existence."

"Power, revenge. You like it," Sylar became more monosyllabic by the minute. He was taking quick, sharp breaths, trying to consciously shut out the pain so he could remain vocal.

"I think you've put me through enough for me not to take anything to do with you at face value," Claire snapped self righteously. She could see the pain on his creasing, clammy forehead and glazing his expressive eyes over, but her subconscious chose not to believe it cause there was a large part of her that wanted to torment him.

"No bedside manners," he ground out, his hands going protectively towards the site of his agony. Even now, he never tried to pry her torturing hands away. If there was any chance that one day Claire would forgive him, it would have to come at a price he was willing to pay. So his arms simply went round and crossed over his chest as he hugged himself into the foetal position and gave thanks to whoever was responsible for him not having his powers here. Random abilities would surely go out of control without his explicit permittance, wreaking havoc on his surroundings and most importantly, the collage girl.

"For starters, I wanna know you're sorry," Claire growled, abruptly letting go only to pull his shirt up and rip his dressing off, along with the tube from his stomach impulsively. They were in the way of her pitiless hands. From his guarding muscles, the spasms that went through his abdomen, the wound that oozed blood and peritoneal fluid, she could grasp she was hurting him for sure, but she didn't care. Wasn't this the most desirable situation to be in? Hasn't she imagined this so many times on sleepless nights and at boring classes? If she could make him realize it was best he steered clear away from her for the rest of her no matter how long existence, she could be free to do whatever she would figure she wanted to do with her life.

With each push, blow, movement of her hands, the pain was making him more and more dizzier, nausea so overpowering he felt as if drowning. Yet her words registered with him, it was his apology she wanted, so unlike Peter. "I am sorry," he panted as loud as he could.

"What are you sorry for?" Claire wanted a long list, not thinking clearly. He was hardly able to say a few words at a time.

"Everything," Sylar tried to find a way to express what she wanted to hear.

"Not good enough!" She slapped him, "what are you sorry for?"

"Gonna be sick," Sylar barely managed to pull back a little for the sake of keeping a shred of his dignity and not covering her in his gastric juices. There had been weeks since he had taken anything orally, but the strain on his body was too much for his ailing digestive system to handle.

The blonde jumped back as well, acting on her first impulse of disgust. She frowned, frustrated. "Is there any way I could make you be really sorry for killing my parents? For terrorizing me at will to your personal pleasure?" She looked at Sylar, unreasonably still expecting an answer. He was bracing his arms over his ribs, gasping. No way he would've dared touch his own stomach, he felt as if it would've been burning already.

Claire couldn't help rolling her eyes. The conversation wasn't supposed to be over. Did he just get himself sick just to get out of the situation? She wondered about that briefly, automatically, as consistent with her previous thought process, but she immediately chastised herself for it. That was going too far, that was nonsense. Sylar was not capable of such a thing, not here, or anywhere, to her knowledge. Her inner reaction confused her a little, it made it clear that she could be sure of nothing. Whatever was going on, she would have to wait till she could deal with him, or more accurately, till he could deal with her. Sylar buried his head into the pillow, disregarding the mess just inches from him. His roiling stomach and compressing skull was not an unusual occurrence, although the cause was entirely different.

"Oh, for god's sakes," Claire pushed a sick bowl into his face seeing as he looked far from finished, so deathly pale he hardly appeared to have energy to gag. Who's gonna have to clean this up if he was that weak? Her?

Sylar pressed himself up on one elbow above the bowl, groaning with his insides protesting shrilly against the motion, but he felt like he had to please her at least as much as not making more mess. He brought up bile, and with great effort, cramps gripping his stomach tightly. He couldn't afford this, he had to talk to her, he had to tell her so much that both of them needed to hear. From the red bloody streaks that hit the sick bowl more and more often, it could be his only chance.

Claire was backing away slowly, disgusted. She had no desire to watch this. The small blonde knew she went too far, yet she would allow herself that much under the circumstances. The view however wasn't pretty and she couldn't get as much enjoyment out of his suffering as she had been expecting to. Besides, what if Peter was right. If Sylar died, they'd be stuck here for even longer. She had to find the paramedic despite his likely anger that would surely be bestowed upon her. But how? Would mobile phones work in this plane of existence? Her phone was downstairs, and that was her best option. She couldn't possibly run around the whole goddamn city idly shouting for him just as she had been doing before for several hours. It'd be most probably very fruitless. Claire reached the door when she heard the sound. The cardiac monitor alarm going off. She stared at it for a moment, trying to determine what was happening. It wasn't a flat line alarm, only indicating a dangerous heart rate and rhythm. There had to be drugs that could be administered in this situation, but she had no idea what or how much.

Sylar had collapsed back onto his pillow, perhaps his body too tired to throw up anymore. Face tight, he was steeling himself against the pain and concentrated on getting those thoughts out he had been wanting to share for so long. "I would take everything back if I could, right from the first temptation, the first kill. I'm sorry I've hurt you in any or every way and not just because I love you."

Then the monitor gave a long, loud shrill and his eyes closed.

Tbc


	7. The World Over

Chapter 7: The World Over

Claire's eyes opened wide and she found she was hyperventilating herself. Should she start performing cpr or just let him die? Isn't that what she wanted? Him dead? It wasn't the first time she thought she had killed him, but this time it felt different. This was no self defence, this was no fair dealing. She had attacked him and systematically tortured his already weak body till it gave up. What did that make her and could she live with it?

Slowly at first, but speeding up as she realised the urgency required, Claire climbed onto the bed and positioned her palms over his heart. Compressions, that came quite easy to her, artificial respiration was another matter. She looked around for a ventilation device in the meantime and she had spotted something that looked like that indeed, but she had to admit she had no idea where to attach it or how to use it. Nor did she have time to find and figure it all out. Mouth to mouth it had to be. The irony of the situation was enormous.

His lips were rough with the dehydration and unresponsive and she had to part them a little so the task could be done effectively, reminding her of how her own lips have been when he had forced their last kiss upon her. The feel of what she was doing was eerie and uncomfortable and she found herself wishing for his soft, sensual touch, a tongue that transferred an unrefined sensation that left her so in need she had fled to Gretchen and gave into all her advances that she had been pushing back for months because of her tendency for a more prevalent straight sexual orientation.

Resuscitation was hard work though and she soon found herself completely focussed on the job, negative connotations and positive stray thoughts forgotten. The concept of time eluded her, her arms were aching, she was out of breath and sweaty. A regenerative ability would've been quite handy to keep her going. She raised her arm to clean the sweat off her forehead with her sleeves as a fleeting, seconds long rest, consequences of her previous actions loud and clear in her mind all of a sudden. The flatline was persistent, if Sylar maybe wasn't permanently, but he was certainly clinically dead, and for a good few minutes at least. Enough evidence that Sylar's absence would not get them out of here.

"What are you doing?" A scandalized Peter shoved her out of the way and took performing the procedure over, "tell me you were not doing nothing for the last twenty minutes?"

"I was just taking a brief pause. How do you know it was twenty minutes?"

"My pager's set to go off any time the readings go haywire. I was running as fast as I could." He was already doing resuscitation again, although the exhausted he looked Claire wasn't sure how long he could go on with it.

"Do you want any help?" She offered tentatively, looking around. With proper advice, maybe she could find the drugs and equipment needed.

"You've done enough damage already," Peter stated coldly, between puffs, surveying Sylar's abdomen. "Now get out! I'll deal with you later!"

Claire frowned, not sure how she felt and not even sure about how she was supposed feel. She didn't know this changed uncle of hers very well and neither did she know this Sylar. If he lived, she would have to spend time getting to know both of them and work on neutralizing Peter's anger. Did she just kill Sylar and if so, could it be that she was in the wrong?

Tired, hungry and most of all very unfamiliarly sore, she didn't want to think about this now. There were tins of peaches and some milk powder in Peter's cupboard and then she was asleep till perfect silence woke her in the morning. Her uncle didn't seem to have showed up and she didn't know what that meant, yet she wasn't intending to be bothered with things to do with Sylar. This was her first proper day here and the endless skyscraper skyline looked worthy of adventure enough for the purpose of exploration. Maybe Peter could not venture far for the sake of his patient. So Claire set off early with the intention of bringing back provisions and entertainment.

Although there were small signs here and there that Peter had been down in the room he was supposed to be living at, Claire had not seen him till three days later. "About time I learnt cooking properly," she shook the packet of now empty instant soup she had used and was so proud of finding on one of her adventures. She had been curious as anything about Sylar's fate, but would not admit such a thing. It was only her little pout that gave away her discomfiture with the state of their once ideal relationship. She liked to pretend everything was normal and perfectly natural, it was her favourite game that hardly ever convinced anyone, including herself. "You must be starving," she filled a bowl with the steaming liquid and set it down closest to him on the table.

Peter nodded as a thank you and sat down, tearing into the freshly made bread she had also figured out how to make in the meantime. By the manner he wolfed the food down, he must've indeed been ravenous, but Claire felt uncomfortable by his busy silence. "How far have you been out in the city? It's the most random and amazing stuff that's here! River peer without any water, the Museum of Natural History with dinosaur bones, the Federal Bank, open and with all the money you could ever use, only you can't use it for anything! And the shipping yard! I'm not sure that's valuable in any way for us."

Peter shrugged, "its just random stuff from Sylar and my past, there's no logic to it. But if we have been to it, seen it or had anything to do with it in our younger days, you can probably find it here."

"Like Nathan's campaign headquarters? Haphazardly set in between Jittetsu Arms and RGS?"

"Hm," Peter gave between spoonfuls a soup. He had not seen anything from Nathan's past so far, but it figured there must've been some signs. But, "wait, RGS?" He had found it unlikely that either himself, Nathan or Sylar had ever visited the high-flying, famed to be dangerous nightclub. "That must be from your past?" Bits of Claire memories added to the nightmare world was a new development.

"A girl's gotta party sometimes," Claire returned cheerily, "not as if I could get hurt. I assume these are from my past as well then?" She lifted a pile of magazines she got hold of in different shops and buildings all over town, mostly Cosmo and Glamour. "Not sure how reading about fashion five years ago would be of any service either," she tried to continue with the light atmosphere. Peter made no attempt to do the same. His spoon slowed down, but he was neither more talkative, nor cheery.

"Are you still angry with me?"

"No, of course not," Peter responded, taking his dishes to the sink, having not looked at her once during the whole interaction so far.

"Then why are you acting this way?"

"Because if you don't realise yourself what you have done, its nothing I can say that could change your mind."

"Excuse me? Did I kill him?"

"No. I had him on life support, but he's breathing on his own at the moment."

"Then there's no reason for you out of all people, my once hero and rescuer against Sylar to be angry at me for. He'll regenerate when we're out of here and I think if he dies in here, every chance he might still regenerate in the real world. Not that it should be my concern."

Peter turned to face her, more for confrontation's sake than anything else. "I forgot what the real world was like, Claire. This is our reality, the place where we suffer, make amends and live with the consequences."

"So you're saying I," she accentuated the word, "have to make amends?"

"Yes. But at the same time no. I did the same as you, I can't be hypocritical. And I confess, beating the crap out of Sylar made me feel better, made me feel satisfied that I have done something to avenge the crimes he had committed. The high doesn't last though. I had to face the moral implications on my own actions and if you are who I think you are, you will as well. So here's the deal. What I was afraid of, has finally happened. He needs surgery. But I can't do it alone and we can't wait very long either. So come and join me upstairs when you're sure you've got it over with the hissy fits and are ready to play nice."

Not ten minutes have passed after Peter had climbed the stairs to the ward when Claire knocked on the half open door lightly, "I'm not here to help him. But I have nothing against helping you."

"It's a start," Peter gave and joined her on the corridor. "I'll show you how to wash your hands and what I'd like you to do."

Tbc


	8. Career Choices

Chapter 8: Career Choice

Peter couldn't spend all his life sitting by a hospital bed, both of them knew that. Of course Claire was used to the place enough now to be able to scavenge for provisions, but that wasn't the point. Peter needed some air, exercise and a clearer head. The paramedic turned surgeon by necessity did not ask his niece not to torment the patient when alone with Sylar, he had a feeling she wouldn't. He was quite sure Claire had put sufficient energy into trying to keep the ex killer alive not to want all that effort to go to waste. The blonde had also learnt enough about medicine of late with the surgery and aftercare that she could possibly pass at least an entrance exam into nursing.

With a feeling of intense déjà vu, Claire sat in the room, too nervous to read this time. Having checked the clock, she knew exactly when she wad due to administer Mercy Heights Hospital's only patient's next dose of antibiotics and all his vitals were satisfactory. Nonetheless she felt this strong vibe of unease, a fear she had not felt previously in his company. That she will have to be embarrassed if not feel guilty and awkward when he wakes. The signs were clear, he would soon regain consciousness, he displayed small movements, moaning like before, his breathing changed to more inconsistent.

Claire would've given anything to delay his coming to, but no more sedation was medically indicated and she was past wanting to harm him. Without any better ideas, she leaned forward and took his hand, squeezing gently. She wanted him to feel safe, comforted and protected for the sake of calming him down for another few minutes of sleep. It was working, he had stopped trashing and seemed comfortably asleep bar for the occasional hardening of his features that she assumed was indicative of increased pain levels.

It was his relative tranquillity that tricked her, she was not ready for him opening his eyes and staring at her with an unguarded, wondering expression while her gaze was averted away from him towards the drip machine. She jumped when meeting his eyes and pulled her hand away. "I'm not here to demand anything," she stated quickly as she had planned when thinking about this situation in advance so not to alarm him, "Peter had patched you up."

Sylar didn't look the slightest bit worried about her presence however. It could've been the next day after their conversation or even the same one as far as his awareness was concerned, he knew nothing of his surgery or his heart stopping. He didn't understand why his throat was even drier than usual, but he tried to continue their talk all the same, "I'm ready to pay for my.." His voice faltered for a moment, "crimes in any way you…" Why was it so hard to speak? He didn't feel particularly weak and hurting like before, it was as if his throat was unused and he didn't produce enough saliva.

"Would you like an ice cube?" Claire offered considerately, not too wound up in herself not to notice his efforts. Peter had told her to give that to him first instead of water.

He gave a little half hearted nod, momentarily thrown off course. Claire sounded nice to him and given his track record with the little con artist she was up to something no good. He took the ice cube however, refreshing it was, but how was he supposed to speak with that in his mouth now? "What do you want me to do? To make up for them?"

"No, Sylar, you don't have to. I understand why you've done the things you've done. Peter told me," Claire held on to her rational mind, not letting her impulsive emotions influence her judgement. She should never let it loose on him again, not unless he explicitly deserves it.

It was another thing that thrown Sylar off. He didn't want Peter spilling his secrets of his pathetic life, no matter how beneficial it may be as mitigating circumstances even in the court of law. He fought through his cringing, "I don't think I should blame anyone. It doesn't bring me people's forgiveness," he stifled a groan, breathing deeply.

"Are you in pain?" Claire noticed, tuned in, "maybe you shouldn't talk that much, "its ok. We can talk later. I could call Peter if you like?" The paramedic needed time off for his own sanity, but the petite blonde was certain he would come back at the drop of a hat.

Sylar shook his head, trying to sit up instinctively as if he could see more clearly if he wasn't horizontal. He did not want Peter, the Petrelli knew too much already, did his best to make everything easier for him and yet there was a part of Peter that he kept locked and unyielding that will never forgive him. It was Claire's forgiveness he wanted the most anyway, the woman's who meant the future. "I can prove it to you that I.." He gasped, falling back.

"You don't need to sit up, you need to rest," Claire scolded, but adjusted the settings on his hospital bed to lift his head up.

"I'm so sorry you have to be stuck here because of me."

"Technically, me being here has nothing to do with you. Don't apologize. Its my fault, more than anybody else's. In fact I'm the one who almost killed you last week, not caring whether that makes us more stuck," she provided that bit of information willingly, not sure whether it was to hurt him, or because he'd probably find out anyway. "You ok?" She frowned at his closed eyes and marred expression. Was his fever back? She touched his cheek to see.

"What are you doing?" He mumbled. The touch was caring, it felt like caring. Like Peter's, like..his real mother's.

"Checking your temperature. I don't think its high. You'll be ok, just let us take care of you."

"Why would you take care of me?"

"Cause I have every intention not to make my father's mistakes. I can make things right. There's not much you can do right now. Get better and we'll talk, make plans and amends."

"I can't make the past go away. I don't want to get better. Just want you to know that I am sorry."

"I know you are. Now get better. Do it for me," she blackmailed him, knowing fine well her own worth in Sylar's mind. By the looks of current developments, she could pull him as if on string and she had been stupid not to notice and use it to her and everyone's advantage before.

Tbc


	9. Shoulders To The Wheel

Chapter 9: Shoulders To The Wheel

As the three sole residents of the city have found out during the following months, there was a tangled and complicated relationship between pride, forgiveness, love, stubbornness and the power one could have over another person. Forgiveness wasn't a commodity given or shared at will, it wasn't something anyone could decide upon without the explicit permittance of the entirety of the soul. Forgiveness was a virtue, a final form of love, only artfully mastered by an elite few.

Sitting on a skyscraper's rooftop where the three had decided to place their vegetable patches after deciding living from cans passed their sell by date was not ideal, Sylar was resting his head against the wall, the weeding and the watering of tomatoes, peppers, marrows and melons done. He was alone up there today, giving him a chance for more serious contemplation and cherishing the fact the other two considered him recovered enough to handle and carry the big barrels they collected rainwater in for the mini plantation. The day's work finished, Sylar looked out over the city, not really seeing it. For years, it hasn't changed much, there wasn't anything to explore, not in the walking distances they could do. Peter had stopped banging at rigid walls as well, but today he had opted for venturing to the old cinema to see if he could find some films there they could screen, pretending they were really at the movies tonight as some special entertainment. He didn't know where Claire was at the moment, but didn't mind getting on with the work they were doing to self sustain by himself, in fact he felt it would be completely his duty to provide to the others stuck in his mess. However, although it was partly still guilt that drove him and such thoughts never stayed far from his mind, but theirs was a relatively settled, agreeable, relaxed and routine existence where their companionship, more consciously than not, didn't allow for gloominess.

At first, he was under close scrutiny, they didn't trust his moods, to take care of himself properly or to progress through stages of emotional healing, but soon looking out for each other became a three way phenomenon. If there wasn't that forgiveness issue or the little detail that they all avoided mentioning certain people or aspects of the past, you could've thought they were the best of friends. With only the three of them in the world, they had to actively work on keeping each other all right and taking joy in existence.

Some days Sylar was quite happy to play their perfect little world game where they shared responsibilities, laughed at their own situation, played card games and made up stories to keep each other amused. Other times he felt overwhelmed by hiding the shaking inside, waiting for that hard price he will have to pay to come. He wished he could hear those words of forgiveness, but he also knew the ultimate absolution could only come from within. Only he could forgive himself.

His head snapped round quickly when he heard the door to the rooftop slam. It had been an automatic reaction, there was no danger here of any kind. Old habits die hard though and he only felt himself relax when he saw Claire's lithe walk, almost like a casual skip as she approached to sit beside him, "did I startle you?" She asked.

"A bit. I wasn't expecting you up here you know," he shrugged, making her laugh musically. If she had to admit the truth, she would've had to say that she liked it here. She didn't have her regenerative ability, she did had no peers to have to try to fit in with, no awkward roommates, pushy parents or the threat of government involvement. No other superhumans to bother her either. Life was simple and though she knew that eventually she would want something more, at the time being she was quite content hiding out here with her broody, but fun discovering uncle and this gentle, intelligent and interesting man she couldn't quite bring herself to call Gabriel. The whole Sylar issue was a matter for another day, another world perhaps. She would of course have to learn how to forgive and forget, but she had given up trying to utter those words that didn't want to come, no matter how she knew how regretful and remorseful Sylar had been. She would want to give it to him if not for any other reason, than to dampen the sadness in those deep brown eyes, only she couldn't just yet.

"I don't see what else could be done up here today. Everything's growing beautifully."

"Ah, that's not why I came," she waved dismissively with a sweet and soft smile. Gardening was not one of her favourite pastimes and the boys usually saved her the bother, "I just began to feel lonely," she scooted and inch or so closer, "reading love poetry alone does that to you."

"Which book was it?"

"Percy Shelley."

Sylar nodded, pensive and sympathetic. It has long been established that almost all soppy and romantic paperbacks came from his past and the type of his reading material told the other two much more than he ever would with words. "I'm sorry there's not much better to do," he immediately internalized her momentary negative feelings as his fault.

"Oh, no, I'm happy I got the chance. I would've never read Shelley, Rossetti or Wilmot if it wasn't for you and I would have no idea what I've missed," she leaned her head on his shoulder, more for his comfort than hers, "and its good to know I'll never be really lonely, eternally. Can't say I'm all that unhappy you took my ability and made sure of that." It was the closest she ever came to saying I forgive you.

Sylar gave a sigh. There were things that never strayed far from his mind. He brought his arm up to cradle her shoulder and they looked out onto the silent city silently together like so many times before till he felt the need to assure her, "no, you'll never be lonely as long as I can help it," he squeezed her shoulder and they sat some more.

"Sylar?"

"Yes, Claire?"

"What are you thinking about right now and don't make something up!"

"You. I'm thinking about you."

"Hah! You did make that up!"

"Why? Am I not likely to be thinking about you?" He teased, subtly hiding that fact that she was indeed very likely to feature in his thoughts, dreams and fantasies. "I was thinking whether I'll ever be able to figure out how much space you need at any time."

"I think you're doing all right on that front," she said still leaning against his shoulder. She found it easier to have a candid conversation with him when not looking at him, the guilt in his eyes always reminded her of the past.

"So do you think I should act on my true feelings?"

"Are these feelings positive?"

"Yes, most definitely."

"Then I think you should. We were all meant to learn that, share, remember?"

"But what if my acting on my true feelings hurts you?"

"Sylar. First, I'm not afraid of being hurt. Second, I don't believe that. You're not that person anymore. Third, on a humorous note, you don't have your powers here, recall any? And fourth, I want you to share your true feelings. You can't keep isolating yourself, it doesn't lead to anything good."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes," Claire assured getting annoyed. What was this going to be with the big tam tam leading up to it?

Sylar then turned to face her for the first time since she'd joined him up on the roof and leaned forward till their lips touched. Featherlight, but he lingered for a moment, savouring her closeness and the sweet taste of her soft lips till his worries of what would happen when the kiss was over took the better of him.

That she didn't pull, run away or squeal, should've given him a clue. Claire was shocked, but it all felt so right somehow, so fitting. And when he pulled back wincing in anticipation to look into her eyes, he had to squint in confusion. Her expression portrayed no disgust, rejection or upset. She stared at him openly, longingly, expectantly.

Her reaction was hard to believe and he hesitated, not wanting to push his luck, but moments like this didn't arise very often, so he acted on that feeling that pulled at him and has been pulling for years and he leaned in again, capturing her lips with his own shyly, moving them slowly in what turned out to be a very soft and sweet kiss she tentatively returned.

He did nor risk to touch her anywhere else, nor dared to pull away, withholding from himself the immeasurable comfort her willingness made explode inside of him. This could only transpire in an abilityless world, where she had nothing to fear from him. It was what could heal him, what he could get from no one else than the object of his affections and the one whose approval he had been looking for.

The kiss had to end though, just as everything did, even in this relatively time warped world. Of course he knew this. While wishing for the moment to last forever and not really wanting to, he gradually ended the kiss by sliding his lips against hers barely touching, then drawing back slowly.

Even though the end wasn't as abrupt as the beginning, it left her gasping and staring, her face leaning after his instinctively half an inch or so. When Sylar caught sight of her before intending to turn his head, in anticipation for the slap to his cheek that was surely coming, he knew he'll never forget the way she was looking at him. Mouth curved slightly upward in a contented afterglow, a definite frisky glint in her eyes that surely teased. Only Sylar wasn't sure who or what the joke was on or about. He took in the sight of her in awe be that as it may, mouth opened slightly as it was during the kiss because he forgot to shut it.

"Take me Sylar," she breathed, so close, yet he wondered if he had to clear his ears.

"You want me to..to touch you?" The city's oldest resident whispered, not daring to suggest anything else.

"I was hoping you would know how to do a lot more than that to me."

"You want me to…uhm, undress you?"

Claire sighed, "do I have to spell it out for you? Have sex. I want you to have sex with me. I can't very well ask my uncle can I? You always say its your fault I'm stuck here, and while that isn't entirely true, you can help out a girl lacking essential fun, can't you?"

Sylar held her gaze with definite hope. No, she didn't ask him to make love to her, that would've been entirely different. But as his heart belonged to her already, he had no objections to his body belonging to her too. "Are you sure?" He tried to shake his doubts away by shaking his head.

Claire took hold of his shirt and pulled him down on her as she lay down on the bags of compacted earth they had hauled up at some point for making more room for different vegetables. "Make love to me right now or I'll either scream or take you myself," she edged her fingers under his shirt and initiated a kiss, trying to assure him of what she was wanting.

He kissed back gently, but affectionately, still apprehensive. His hands started exploring on their own accord, up her sides and cupping her face till desire in him pushed him into a frantic and ardent attack of her lips, jaw and neck. Taking one more reassuring look into her eyes that he was doing the right thing, he freed himself of his shirt before joining his mouth with hers once again and tangling his fingers into her hair. His bare chest rubbed to her skin, easily accessible under the small top she was wearing. He wanted her so much and he'd been wanting her for so long his insecurities could not get into the way of his desires. The air vibrated with it, his body was shaking with want and she could feel it, along with his cock, nicely shaped and rising under his trousers. Hips joined as lips were already, taking up the age old rhythm of nature. It was what she came for in the first place, purposefully indulging herself in a moment of passion with her favourite boy toy. But she didn't expect this heat that could flare up so unpredictably in her body and the flare that pounded her body unexpected, along with the passion, the shared heights, peace, and the profound release that liberated her. Nothing would ever be the same.

Tbc


	10. Daybreak

Chapter 10: Daybreak

Claire wasn't particularly worried about the birth in advance. While she did not have her regenerative ability in this world and no other women to reassure her about how such things went, she had the former nurse, paramedic and now pretty much self educated surgeon of an uncle with her, Peter, who once having gotten over the shock of having to deliver Sylar's baby and understanding that this is what Claire had really wanted, had pestered and examined her every week of her pregnancy, wanting to make sure everything was going as it should.

Now squatting on the hospital bed Peter had insisted they should go to just in case either the newborn or the mother would need some kind of intervention, Claire wished she had asked for some major pain relief. Given she had died several times and jumped off all sorts of buildings and bridges, she did not think she needed it, but when her uncle had informed her it was too late to stop for an epidural, her baby boy was coming, almost there, she let out a scream, half driven by pain, half by panic. Peter had assured her what was happening was completely normal, that the baby's vitals were okay, but she felt overwhelmed by the powerlessness, of having no influence on how nature went about its business. "Sylar!" She shouted at the man in the corner, biting his nails and held out an open palmed hand towards him. Indestructible girl felt like someone should hold her.

Peter nodded at Sylar encouragingly, insistently, then waved him over with an impatient frown when the taller man hesitated. Anything to make Claire more at ease. Once he manoeuvred Sylar in front of the bed so Claire could grab onto his arms for support and bear down, he checked the progress of the birth again and found that he could see and touch the baby's head, "not much more to go, Claire, that's it! Good girl," he complimented her on the effort, breathing laboriously as if he would've been the one pushing. Both the other two noticed there was a change in his voice, a look of glee slowly appearing on his face, "I think its only one more push!" He cried and worked with her, easing the baby out carefully after the shoulders broke free.

Claire fell droopily into Sylar's arms, relieved. The pressure was gone. At the same time, they heard the newborn's cry, loud and strong, and furious for Peter bothering him by cutting his cord and wiping him clean. "It's a beautiful and healthy little boy as we saw on the ultrasound, ten out of ten," the paramedic announced proudly and handed them the bundle, "congratulations."

The new mother held out protecting hands, somewhat afraid to harm the infant and held him carefully, while Sylar supported the head and Claire's back as well with his body. The little one stopped squealing, perhaps feeling he was with his mom and turned his little head around to look for a nipple, burying his head into her chest. Laughter mixed with tears as all three stared at the child, so sure of what he was supposed to do already.

Such a perfect moment. Claire looked into the eyes of her child's father, so soft, and caring and warm. She could not detect the reservation and shyness he usually acted like with her, but she knew it would return. They could not be a proper family till she said those words that were needed. Leaning against him and cradling the beautiful gift he gave her, she raised her other hand to cup his cheek. "I don't want you to suffer, Sylar. I forgive you," she smiled at him with admiration and approval, "because I love you."

Sylar froze in surprise, then looked back at the child, Claire and Peter. With his smile widening, he nodded in silent acknowledgement. He knew it came from the heart. He leaned down to kiss them both and did not notice the change of scenery.

Upstairs, Matt Parkman heard a baby crying coming from his basement, but blamed it on the drink. His son wasn't here, he knew that much. Peter tried to get his head in order after the long hiatus in a different world, with different goals, him being the first to realise they were back to reality. They were to go to save Emma, there was surely still time according to his watch that had skipped back several years. But what was he do with a few minutes old babe and his technically still teen mother Claire? And how will this all bode with Angela, or the namesake of the child, if his niece went with her plan and named the baby after her father?

Eli descended the stairs, smug face forgotten. A newborn baby was not in his plans. Sylar and Peter stood protectively in front of mother and child, the ability collector putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, facilitating power transfer, whatever ability Peter would choose for the fight.

Tbc


	11. Hang On Tight

Chapter 11: Hold On Tight

Having made sure Samuel was dragged away powerless to prison, Peter ran towards the tent Emma was leading him back to. Evidently he had to take on the carnival leader as his mother's ability suggested it was Sylar who had to rescue his data archivist girlfriend, but he felt very guilty having left a not even hour old baby and mother in tow of the reformed killer. It was Doyle he saw first, tangled up in wires and quite obviously for the trained eye, being slid forward telekinetically.

"What do you want with him?" Sylar asked for his friend's opinion, stepping up close to him in a confidential fashion.

Peter's eyes searched round, unconsciously taking one final look to make sure everything was all right and the situation had calmed down so that his frazzled nerves could relax too. In doing so, he had caught a glimpse of Noah Bennet starting to walk away from another job finished. The agent was weary, tired and dispassionate. His work was never finished despite the fact he did not even get paid for it anymore.

Catching his eyes for a fleeting second, the older man nodded in silent acknowledgement of Peter's major involvement in the showdown, something he had neither expected or was surprised about either. It was always a certain number of people against the dangerous mutants like a secret sworn society that had only one, but an extremely important goal in common.

Noah paused in his tracks though, confusion marring his forehead. It was quite dark, still, he could never miss Sylar's figure, standing shoulder to shoulder with Peter at a small angle, in a way it was impossible for the Petrelli not to know that the killer was standing right beside him. And as if the two were not a queer sight enough, the little group to the side of them dazed him just the same. Claire holding a tiny baby wrapped in a towel, and a woman he did not remember leaning in smiling to look at the little one. The whole picture was wrong. It wasn't only Claire's presence, who had nothing to do with the carnival of late to his knowledge, or the fact that she was holding a child, but more so the proud expression she had on her face when showing the infant to the other woman. Claire should not be so interested in children, he huffed irritably.

Sylar stepped one back towards her when he noticed the old company man taking off in their direction and Peter followed him, all gathering around the child as if they would've been trying to subconsciously protect it from something or someone. Noah didn't assume it was him, his focus shifted back to Sylar and on what could he have been doing amongst them.

The whole group was waiting for him uneasily, apart from maybe Emma, who was sensing some tension, but was not aware of the approaching man's identity. Claire slowly pushed herself forward in between the rest. She knew it was her who would be under fire anyway when her father found out the state of affairs. She'd been imagining this moment so many times in so many ways, psyching herself up for the occasion, yet when it came right down to it she could not remember all her prepared sentences, only just the beginning of her speech, "dad. I want you to meet your grandson. We named him after you," she smiled at the babe in her arms despite the oddness of the situation, not admitting that she wanted her son to be called Noah partly as a mitigating strategy.

Noah blinked behind his glasses. Not many things would render him speechless in this world, even for a fraction of a second. His mind was computating possibilities and he hadn't come up with a very good one. Claire had been away at college, but not for that many weeks at a time, and more to the point, she would not keep such a thing from him. "What are you talking about? You can't just decide to randomly adopt carnival children. Who knows what kinda ability they'll grow up to possess?"

Sylar paled a little at his words, but Claire had other issues on her mind at the moment, "no, he is my flesh and blood," which was more than Noah could say about her, not that she was complaining about her shielded childhood.

The petite blonde looked at Peter for his help, who promptly came with his argument, "I delivered the baby not much more than an hour ago myself. I can guarantee you, he is Claire's."

Noah turned towards the Petrelli swiftly in an antagonistic, irritated manner. However, he did not dispute his words, "its her regenerative ability, isn't it? It sped up the process, development was extra fast." He has seen things like that before with specials.

"No, dad," Claire thought she should be the one that explained it to him, "it's a long story, but put it short, me, Peter and Sylar got stuck in a sort of an alternate universe and spent years there. We're barely back to find hardly any time has passed in this one."

Noah's jaw tightened as he regarded the three, looking for any sign, hope, that it wasn't so. Peter looked away pained, Claire was embarrassed, but defiant as ever, Sylar held his gaze unwavering, on the mocking side as usual. Nothing of the sort the company man was hoping for. "You bastard!" Noah raised the company gun he still possessed and always had handy and emptied all bullets into the serial killer's torso at close range. The fact that Sylar could stop him with ease or any other consequences did not bother him. Noah was angry, fuming and enraged and whatever little paying he could get out of Sylar right now, he would settle for it as starters. It was the worse yet his former partner has done, mistreating Claire in such a way, the details of which he would never wish to know.

Sylar, however, made no attempt to stop the projectiles. Having not used his abilities for years, he was not sure if he'd not be a bit rusty at precise manoeuvres. It was best not to take chances with flying bullets with little Noah so close. He would have simply let all of them penetrate his body, but Peter didn't agree. Possessing his telekinesis at the moment, he halted the last two bullet, in spite of the fact that the rest of them would've already made his friend fall backwards and temporarily out of the game as Noah's first two shots did not miss his heart, just as intended.

Claire's foremost thought was with the child. She initially shielded her boy with her body and then when she was sure Peter was in control of the situation, she handed Noah over to the older Emma she had heard pretty much everything about in their own world she actually missed right now, and rushed to kneel next to Sylar, opening his jacket and shirt. It had been such a long time since she'd seen regeneration in action that she wanted to make sure and see that it was happening with her own eyes.

"It's Doyle we'd like you to handle, not Sylar," Peter went with his original thought regarding the puppet master. What Noah made sure would be portioned out for Doyle, was probably the appropriate sentence for him.

Noah glanced in the tied up prisoner's direction for a millisecond while reloading his gun again and training it in Sylar's direction, "I have other concerns, if you don't mind," he kept his eyes on his target, "to some extent I'd understand if you'd like to protect your brother's memories that had been unfortunately transferred inside him, but its certainly not worth keeping a threat like Sylar keeping alive for, you should know that!" He fired another batch of bullets into the stirring man to make sure he remained still till he could deal with the nonsense that was coming from the direction of the ever so soft Petrelli.

Nothing much fazed Noah and yet he paused in confusion, lowering his gun in his bewilderment. Why had Claire thrown herself over his target and caught some of the bullets in her shoulder, was beyond him, but he was not going to shoot his own daughter. It shocked him into a realisation. With Claire's habitual hatred of Sylar, there had to be a well established and sound reason for her protecting her boogey man. Has Sylar perhaps acquired mind control?

And manifestly, why Claire made sure she was still in the line of fire and was unbuttoning his shirt to see the damage, was if possible, more of a mystery to Sylar than it was for Noah, despite their years spent together in the world fashioned by Parkman. Spluttering blood and struggling with a cough that tore at his half knit lungs, he tried to push her off weakly, not managing to form intelligible words even now given that Noah knew how to hit vital organs pretty well.

"Are you all right? Are you healing?" Claire ran her hands over some of his wounds, not entirely sure in the relative darkness if she was seeing well.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Sylar raised himself on an elbow to demonstrate and spat some bullets out.

"I dunno," Claire fussed over him, helping him turn to his side, "I got unused to it I guess. I hated it so much when you were ill for a long time," her hand trailed down his chest in between the open shirt and to his stomach, where she could see no surgery scars anymore. It brought her to her senses and thankful they were back in the real world. With her dad, she will have to deal later, she was sure the older man needed time. Perhaps a lot of time. "How about we fly?" She suggested, looking at Peter, rather than Sylar.

Peter's eyes gave a visible little spark in joyfulness and anticipation. Flying he had missed and not only because that was Nathan's ability. He gave a hand to the fallen man to help him up, making the power transfer at the same time, then moved to hold Emma. Sylar gathered up his family and they all levitated upwards.

"Claire!" Noah snapped out of his shock at his daughter's display of affection towards the killer. It did not seem forced, orchestrated or false in any way as much as it was possible to tell, "wait. This is breaking my heart. Hear me out. Come with me, Claire, just you and me, so we can make sense of what's been happening to you together. Wouldn't that be nice? I could do with some bridge building," he tried to get through to her, whatever the situation was.

"I remember our bridge dad," Claire assured, although from above ground and Sylar's arms, "the pillar on my side is not shaky, believe me. I promise I'll come and explain everything. But not now. You need to talk to Matt Parkman first, that might help…" Was the last thing Noah could hear as they flew out of earshot. Claire continued to her companions, "and we need to figure out where and how we live."

"My apartment's has a big enough living room till you find a place or decide what you do," Peter offered, smiling as Emma's body pressed to him. Unlike Sylar and Claire, he had a lot to catch up on.

"Thank you, Peter. I think your living room might just suffice for all three of us for a little while," Claire cuddled her son to herself, loosing herself in his father's adoring eyes. Noah was a big test as Sylar saw it, and she had passed it.

The End.


End file.
